In the Dark of the Night
by Boys On Boysenberry-hime
Summary: Bel and Fran work together for a few reasons, the most important one being that Bel will always, ALWAYS kill the hostages if left alone. Eventual B26, rated for blood, gore, and violence.


In the Dark of the Night

Rating: M (For violence, blood, gore, and Bel being Bel)

Pairing: Eventual B26

Disclaimer: All characters being to Akira Amano. I claim nooooo ownership.

* * *

><p>"Well, Froggy?" The Prince twirled the blade between his fingers playfully, light glinting off of the sharped edge and down to the handle as he deftly manipulated the knife. He was practically quivering with excitement or bloodlust or some other base and creepy emotion Fran didn't quite want to hear about, his hidden eyes undoubtedly flickering between the man duct taped to a chair in the center of the room and the illusionist perched atop a pile of crates. The Prince was more than eager to get started, and Fran could have told anyone that just by watching the way Belphegor practically twitched with excitement to bring that blade to skin. He was way too eager, and Fran almost found that eagerness obscene. Almost.<p>

"Yes, senpai?"

Belphegor gestured vaguely with the knife. "You're sure we're hidden? The Prince doesn't want interruptions."

Fran raised his head with effort (the hood really was heavy) and looked around the room. The warehouse wasn't typically where they conducted interrogations, particularly ones that the Prince conducted, but it had been convenient and isolated enough that it would serve their purposes without a lot of hassle. A quick illusion had done the rest, turning the once massive warehouse into a particularly uninteresting vacant lot complete with stray garbage and overgrown weeds. People would see it, but they just wouldn't care, and any particularly loud and shrill screams would become nothing more unusual than honking horns and howling wind. It was child's play, an illusion Fran could have cast in his sleep after a head injury, but he appeased Bel with a glance around to ensure the illusion was still in perfect working order.

"Yes, senpai. It's perfect." Fran toyed with the brown leather wallet in his hands and folded his legs beneath him. He'd chosen the stack of crates for a reason; it gave him a good vantage point to watch Bel work, while still keeping him safely out of the splatter zone. In his opinion it wasn't a good idea to get bloody, even with someone elses blood, when the Prince was in a mood. Friend or foe not withstanding. "Even the guy in the other room won't hear anything."

Belphegor's grin grew, his head turning in the direction of the shut door leading into a small storage area. "Shishishi…maybe you should let him. He should be able to appreciate the Prince's work."

"I'd prefer him not to die of boredom before he talks to us, Bel-senpai."

"Hey!" Bel's grin faded a little. "The Prince's methods are perfect. And if you don't believe it…" He held up a handful of knives, fanning them out so Fran could see the wickedly curved blades of each. "The Prince will be happy to use you for a demonstration."

Fran held up a hand and shook his head. He was familiar with how those knives felt, and he personally couldn't be bothered to deal with them at the moment. Pulling them out of his back, chest, arms, head, one by one got tiresome, and repairing holes and slices in his coat grew old fast. "You're right, Bel-senpai. Please continue."

"I don't need your permission." Nonetheless Bel turned away from him and focused his attention back on their captive. His grin had grown again, until Fran could practically hear his teeth grind together in sick anticipation. To the captive's credit, he looked relatively calm, working his wrists together to try and loosen the duct tape while he stared down Bel and Fran alternately. Either he didn't fear death, in which case they were in for a long night, or he didn't know Prince the Ripper by reputation. Fran liked to think it was the latter. It would piss Bel off.

"You just sit there and watch," Bel continued as he approached the man and stashed away all knives except for one. It was supposed to be an interrogation after all, and even Bel knew to start slow.

"I planned to," Fran muttered. He always did watch while Bel worked his 'art'. The smallest details were the most important ones when it came to casting realistic, believable illusions, and Bel was the perfect man to observe when Fran needed references to blood and how the body behaved to being slowly cut apart. His master wasn't too big into gore, but Fran always found it fascinating, and he'd learned more than he liked to admit about blood spray from watching Bel work.

Bel approached the man until he was within arms reach, and at that distance he practically towered over the seated man, who looked up at him with annoyance but clear defiance. Belphegor must have presented an imposing figure, with the knives, the wide, maniac's grin and the hidden eyes, but the seated man didn't look the slightest bit intimidated. A shame really, that he didn't look like he was taking the assassin pair very seriously, and Fran considered giving Bel some nightmarish horns or cloven hooves to help up the fear and panic in the room.

"Shishishi…so…do you want to tell us about that shipment your boss got in the other day? Hmm?"

The man hardly blinked. For whatever his reasons, he was stupidly loyal to his boss and to whatever scheme they were up. Stupid, Fran figured, because being silent and stubborn was only going to make the rest of his very short life very un-enjoyably.

"Hey. The Prince asked you a question, and refusing to answer the Prince's questions is a very bad thing." Bel glanced over his shoulder, grinning at Fran. "Isn't that right? Tell him, Froggy."

"Hm? Oh. Oh yes." Fran blinked, droning in monotone. "Ohhh it's scary. The fake Prince is…"

_ Thunk._

"Ow." The illusionist tugged the knife from his shoulder with a sigh. "Bel-senpai I'm not the one you should be stabbing."

"Then you should stop being stupid." Bel turned away with a grin, and Fran took his distraction as an opportunity to tuck the knife away for safekeeping. He did want to look at the weird original design a little closer. All the better for when a Bel illusion was, regrettably, necessary. "So," Bel continued. "Are you going to tell us?

For a second Fran actually thought the man was going to answer. His mouth moved, as if preparing to give Bel a real answer, but rather than words Fran watched a white glob of spit shoot past his lips and land wetly on the flawless leather of Bel's coat. Fran almost laughed.

The Prince twitched, nearly sending a knife between the man's eyes. He stopped just short of ending the man's life then and there, settling instead to kick him full on in the face and send his chair toppling backwards. It landed on the floor with a hard crack that might have just been the chair against the concrete floor, but for a moment Fran was convinced it was the sound of his skull bouncing on the ground. In his experience, skulls made the strangest sounds when they impacted with really hard objects. They also bounced, from time to time.

"You son of a bitch. A peasant like you isn't even good enough to spit on the Prince." Bel followed the falling chair in a swift motion, his boot coming down hard in the center of the man's chest and sending a violent breath huffing from his throat. If might have been enough to break a rib or two, but if the first impact hadn't been enough, the way Bel brought up his foot and slammed it down again would have been. Fran almost winced. He was used to knives and the occasional punch, but the stomping was a new one. He made a mental note to avoid putting himself in a situation where Bel would have a chance to stomp on him. As he watched, the prince slammed his foot down one more time and ground it hard into the man's chest, making the captive wheeze and groan weakly as he tried to squirm away. The motion only seemed to make Bel grin wider, and slowly and deliberately he drew a knife once more and held it where the man could see. "You're going to tell me about the shipment, and then maybe I won't cut you all into pieces before I kill you."

The man neglected to answer, and Bel wasted no time in sinking the blade slowly into the soft flesh just below the man's collarbone. It was a non-fatal move, but the Prince took his time, easing it in inch by inch, until the man had to bite back a cry of pain. Fran could imagine how it felt; it was probably agonizing no matter how tough you were, but in terms of a show it really wasn't too interesting. From his perch he could see the quick trickles of blood soaking the man's shirt, but there was no splatter, no spray, and Fran quickly lost interest in watching. When Bel really got into it the interrogation would be worth watching, but until then all Fran could do was wait, keep them hidden, and hopefully do what he could to keep his partner from killing the man before they got the information they needed. Instead he looked down at the wallet he had pilfered from their other captive.

There wasn't much to it; a few credit cards that they didn't need and would serve no purpose to them, a couple of wrinkled ten dollar bills, and half a dozen faded business cards, but what really piqued Fran's interest were the two small photographs pressed into the folds of the wallet. To Fran money and cards were useless, a benefit of being an illusionist that could easily pull the wool over someone's eyes and get what he wanted at no cost, but he never stopped being fascinated by the personal objects people kept with them. He pulled the photos free of the wallet and squinted at them in the low light. A pretty but plain woman in maybe her late thirties, posed pleasantly with a young girl in a green dress. The little girl bore a very vague resemblance to the man tucked away in the other room, and Fran came to the quick conclusion that he was looking at photos of the man's family.

The captive Bel was working with let out a sudden sharp howl of pain, and Fran tore his eyes away from the photos long enough to watch Bel sink two knives into the man's gut and wrench them in different directions. It made the man's exposed skin pull in a strange and almost unreal way, and Fran made a mental note of it. He'd never seen flesh do that before, but no doubt it would be useful in the future.

"Bel-senpai," He called out in a singsong voice, and drew Bel's attention back to him. The blonde's face was sprinkled with blood, and the ever present grin was wider and more manic than ever. Clearly Bel was having fun.

"What Froggy?"

"Has he told you yet?"

"Ushishi~ not yet." Bel grinned down at the man and flicked the handle of one of his knives, making it quiver where it stuck up from the man's flesh. The man moaned softly, turning his head away. "But the Prince will get an answer. Don't worry your pretty head."

With that Bel turned his attention back to their captive, asking one more time for an answer but not waiting for one before he continued his "art." Maybe they would get an answer, but more likely than not Bel would end up killing the guy before they ever did. Fran sighed and looked back at the pictures in his hands. They would probably end up needing to talk to the other guy, and if that was the case, those pictures would be very useful. If his master had taught him one thing he might not have learned on his own, it was the value of information. Every little detail counted. Fran was never going to be very good at physically fighting, but that didn't mean he couldn't do damage. He glanced up at Bel, who had moved from slow stabs to quick sharp slashes and frantic giggles. He might be even more capable of doing more damage than Bel, but they had never pitted themselves against each other, not in any serious way, so it was hard to judge.

He tuned out the man's screams and Bel's laughter, letting his imagination wander to more interesting thoughts. There was nothing revolutionary going on on the ground below him, after all, and he better things to think about. He didn't know how long the interrogation went on. It could have been hours for all he knew, but after a while it all began to run together. Blood and screams, Bel's laughter…nothing new.

"Fran~"

"Eh?" Fran blinked and looked up. Bel was practically nose to nose with him, grinning like the cat that got the cream, his cheeks splattered with blood, hair mussed but still laying across his eyes. The illusionist hadn't even realized he had approached, and his sheer proximity made him blink in surprise. "Bel-senpai, your face is creeping me out. Can you back up, please?"

The prince giggled and sat back on his heels, folding his hands behind his head as he grinned at his partner. "Were you napping, froggy? We're supposed to be working."

Fran shrugged. "I was thinking." He leaned to the side and glanced around Bel's shoulders to the figure still curled on the ground. The man was suspiciously still, motionless in a way that no living, breathing person could be. "Are you finished, fake prince?"

Bel turned to follow his gaze. "The Prince is finished with that peasant."

"Oh good. Does that mean we can go back now?"

"No. You need to make a phone call."

"Eh?" Fran blinked. "Why me?"

It took a moment of rummaging in his coat, but before long Bel produced a cell phone, its silver case sticky with drying blood. He held it out to Fran, resting his head on his hand. "Because the peasant didn't talk, and I got bored waiting to kill him. You should call the strategy captain and tell him."

"Why do I have to call him? You're the one that messed up, fake-prince."

The knife was in his thigh before Fran even saw Bel move, and he drew it back out with a heavy sigh. At least Bel was in a good mood, and the knife didn't end up in his head.

"Because you're the rookie, froggy. And rookies call when there's a problem. Ask the captain if he wants us to interrogate the other one."

Fran knew without even needing to call that Squalo was going to want the other man interrogated. It was the whole point of their mission, and coming back empty handed was not an option. As far as he was considered, he could just as easily skip the phone call, and the yelling, and the threats, and the burst eardrums, and just get to interrogating the other man. It would all be the same in the end, but he doubted Bel would let him get away with it. The Prince just loved getting him in trouble and making his life difficult in any way he could.

"Do I have to? I don't want to talk to the idiot commander."

He felt a knife sink up to the hilt in his shoulder and slowly draw out; Bel's unspoken way of expressing his opinion about the matter. Fran sighed. If he didn't call Bel was just going to harass him more, and he weighed his options.

"Fine, fake-prince. I'll call."


End file.
